Black Hearts and Silence
by BlackJackSilver
Summary: The story behind Barbossa's search for coin number 881. (My first fic that isn't a one shot!)
1. Prologue: Coins on Our Eyes and Tongues

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I disclaim everything. I own nothing. It's all the wonderful world of Disney, mate!

This is a departure for me- my first fan fic that is not a one shot! It's not going to be very long mind, but more than one chapter! Well, I'm pretty excited about it.

I dedicate this story as a thank you to my reviewers. Your kind words and suggestions have been helpful beyond measure, and are always most welcome. Here we go then. 3Cats, PeiPei, Gaeriul, Oneiriad, Raphe1, Desirous Dreams of Darkness, BarbossasPearl, Lady Lorax, Virgo79, wellduh..., dshael, williz, Araminta Ditch, Missy Mouse, FalconWing, Alori Kesi Aldercy, gretch, Alteng, The Elusive, heavenxleigh, and rennie1265, thank you all for your time and generous natures. How I've come to respect each of you.

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Black Hearts and Silence -by BlackJackSilver

Prologue-

Coins on Our Eyes and Tongues

Eight hundred and eighty, that is the number of gold Aztec coins spirited away, from all corners of the charts, rising from the ashes of mansions and the depths of wrecks, torn from hidden places and lifeless hands, and dug from the graves of the fortunate smiling dead. Eight hundred and eighty tiny voices had sang to them like sirens, driving them forth, driving them on, driving them mad, with promises of life returned and death restored.

Barbossa always had an uncanny memory. At one time, he had cursed his inability to forget even the smallest fact, the most trivial detail. Sometimes a brain full of accumulated blood and gore, treasure and revelry, made Barbossa feel the best of life had sailed. Now Barbossa replays the myriad of colors and textures of orgasm, the taste and sound of sunshine, the weight and feel of organ music in December, and the synesthesia of his own flesh in moonlight. Now, memory is what he has. What he does not have, are two coins of cursed Aztec gold.

Six months it took, to fritter them away, the curse descending all the while, like a fine mist at sea. Easy enough to ignore, when riding a wave of glory, greed, and lust. Colors became less vivid; sounds more monotone. Tastes seemed off- sweetness, the sweetness of apples for example, was the very first thing to go. Then each man according to his own mind, his heart and whatever was in it, noticed, dreaded, and tried hard to shrug off the feelings, then the numbness, finally the lack of both.

Turner, the one who turns, was the one who wouldn't turn. His loyalty burned in him as cold and steady as the North Star. Turner remembered Sparrow, like Barbossa remembers apples, more fondly even- perhaps. Turner who called the monkey Bandit, frowned when the rest of the crew called the monkey Jack. Turner, the still one of them all, he was the first to know what Barbossa had only started to suspect. Turner, who called on the Teller first, found out how to break the curse, and how to extend it.

Turner, the one who turns all things, flipped a situation like a coin, sent two coins beyond Barbossa's grasp. Turner, so honest even in his deceit, told Barbossa everything, except for what was truly important. How Barbossa had hated him. How he hates him still. How he curses Turner turning in his watery hell, for martyring himself to damn them all. How Barbossa curses himself for being taken in, manipulated with his own rage, by Turner the honest man.

Six months it took to fritter them away; two years more, more or less, to get them all back again- all but the last two, the silent two, Turner's two. Barbossa would win anyway, of course. He'd win just like he won the Pearl. He'd find the last two coins just like he found the first, like he found the Isla de Muerte, and the treasure of Cortez himself. Barbossa would win, because he had already won, because unlike the heartless Sparrow and the gutless Turner, Barbossa remains to win.

(continued in Chapter One)

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	2. 1 Three Coins and the Deep

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Disney owns all. I am as unimportant as a lowly worm(and just as worth suing, well maybe not even), owning and claiming nothing. I write fan fics because I just never get tired of writing the same disclaimer over and over and over and over and over.

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Black Hearts and Silence- by BlackJackSilver

Chapter One-

Three Coins and the Deep

At first, the curse bestowed not a curse, but a blessing upon most of the crew of the Black Pearl. How they had laughed at those heathen gods for making them all the more frightening and completely unable to die. Some bloody curse, that was. It was, come true, a pirate's dream!

It was not Bill Turner's dream, though. He had no wish to be any less an ordinary man, than his crimes of piracy already had made him. He could not bear to imagine his wife and son cowering at the sight of him in his skeletal form, still that image taunted him. From the night of their first moonlit transformation, and later at the revelation of their invincibility, Bill Turner awaited the rest of the curse, that hidden part he sensed from deep within his own soul. He waited and watched, hoped even, for signs of some malady befallen them all, some horrible affliction that they all so richly deserved to suffer. Bill did not have to wait long.

By the time he spoke with the old Teller, he knew the crew was starting to notice the sensory oddities with which he was now so familiar. He had only three coins of his share remaining. The rest, he had turned into more common currency, and had sent most of that home to his wife and child. Sending money home was an inefficient way to enrich his family, he knew. Every palm his earnings crossed took a share, a transport cost, a tithe for their trouble. A considerable percentage of what he sent, nearly always did find its way home, though. Since the curse, his wife and Will were the only sources of hope left to him. Since talking to the Teller, Bill knew he was lost to them. Somehow his wife would manage without the money he sent. Will would grow into adulthood. Bill felt this to be true, and knew he would not see it.

"You'd have to wash the coin in the substance most dear to you," the Teller had told him, "be that whore spit or yer ma's fish stew."

Would have been easy enough for Jack, Bill thought, always plenty of rum handy. Bill thought constantly of Jack. He missed him even more than he'd thought he might. Bill knew that Jack most particularly haunted his thoughts, because Bill had not been able to do right by Jack, not yet.

"Then you must send the coin to a man you love, a man ye'd die to save. Ya must tell him nothing about the reason for sending it. Fore ya ask- yes -has to be a man. Finding a woman ya love would be too easy. Curses are fickle, fussy and difficult things.

Once ya done all that- yer coin ul be beyond the reach of Barbossa or any who search it out. Two things will have to happen fore they'll ever find it. First, the coin would have to be stolen from the one ya sent it to, by one knowing nothing about the coin nor the curse. Then second, the coin would have to get washed by the same stuff ya wash it in the first time. If those two things happen, yer coin will call out to the cursed men jus' like all the rest of the coins will."

The coins must be stolen first! That part made Bill feel better about the idea of sending the coins. Thieves, not the recipients, would have to face Barbossa. He could live, die or exist somewhere between the two, with that on his conscience.

"When will the coins start calling?"

"Hard to say. I suspect it'll start either when the last of the coins are spent by them that took em out the chest, or likelier still, when every cursed man is sure the curse upon him is the reason for all his suffering."

Bill paid the Teller well, with some of his remaining silver, and warned him to expect Barbossa.

"Nothin Barbossa can do to me, lad, 'cept help me find my death. When yer old as I am- that just ain't scary no more."

"He could make your death unpleasant."

That made the old Teller laugh, like it was the best joke in the world, that Bill had just told him.

Bill washed the three coins in seawater, wishing he did love whore spit, his mother's stew, or any less common substance, more than he loved the sea. That would have been a lie, though. He could only count on the truth to help him in his chosen course of action. He gave the problem of whom to send the coins some thought. Eventually, he dropped the first of his three remaining coins into the sea. Knowing a thing or two about Captain Jack Sparrow, Bill knew he would have waded into the sea before he used Barbossa's shot. The teller never said anything about the recipient having to be a living man.

Bill watched as a shark following the Pearl immediately stole the coin from Jack. It was only a thought, of course, an easy empty gesture on his part. Bill knew those never counted in the end. It would have amused him, however, had he known how much chaos and groundless terror he would cause, once the coins started singing, and shark-hunting topped Barbossa's list of things for the crew to do.

Bill put a coin in a wooden box, wrapped that in coarse paper and tied it up with string. He sent the parcel to Will by the same route he usually sent money, half expecting, half hoping, it would not reach it's intended destination. He had gone to the trouble of having it made into a necklace. Will was still a lad, with the heart of a man, though not the height nor the might. If Will wore it, Bill reasoned, likely it would get stolen faster. All the better to put more distance between Will and Barbossa.

The third and final coin, Bill Turner sent to the only other man on earth he truly loved.

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(coming soon, Chapter Two)

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	3. 2 The Box

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I claim nothing. It's up to the ghost of Uncle Walt, the Disney machine, the writers of PotC, and Johnny Depp to fight it out.

Raphe1, Rennie1265, and Virgo79, thank you for sticking with me. Welcome Spec-chickie!  
Thank you all for your reviews.

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Black Hearts and Silence -by BlackJackSilver

Chapter Two-

The Box

Old Leadgullet Mullet, no matter what his real name, is soft as a kitten now; but folks in St. Christopher still tell stories about him and whisper his secrets when they think he can't hear. If half the rumors are true, he was a fisherman, an explorer, a merchant, a spy, a murderer, a forger, a gambler, a war hero, a blackmailer, a smuggler, a courtier, and a pirate. None of their stories are true, of course. His youth was a lot more interesting, a lot less cut and dried.

The Cart and Wheel, or Catherine Wheel, if you prefer as he does, has been his dive for years now. It's down by the docks where a lad can have a drink, fall in love for the night, or meet up with the impresser's gang and come to a bad end serving bravely in the Navy. True, the gangs haven't been around as much, since that one gang got themselves caught, somehow.

Outarmed and outnumbered, they were, by a mob of sailors' women- wives, widows, mothers, sisters, daughters and doxies. A couple of the pretty ones lured them into the back room, where there's really only one way in or out, unless yer head's hard enough to make it through the wall. Well, not one man amongst them had a head that hard, not for lack of trying, either.

Likely them women would have beat them all to a bloody death, and never thought tupence about it. One of the lassies went into labor, though. The rest got caught up in helping her. They decided to let the gang drag themselves off as best they could, seeing as how they were underfoot, distracting everyone with their moaning and bleeding, and what have you. Wonderful people, women are, so much potential. Not a lot of men can be as warm or as cold.

There were only two women in his life now. Throughout most of it, there had been either two or many. Even when he had his mother, he had the sea, and whore though she be to other men, ever faithful she'd been to him. She'd given him everything he'd ever wanted and more. To him, the sea was as forgiving as she was generous. She'd never asked him to be faithful, no, quite the contrary. The only thing ever she wanted from him was the easiest thing for him to give her. She took his very soul.

Somehow, the sea had made him into the kind of man a wife could love. Then the sea had brought his wife to him. His wife, before she died, gave him the only woman he could love more than her, that woman's name is Cathie. She helps her father run the Cart and Wheel.

"'Ere you go Da, a presie fer ya!"

"Wha's this? Taint me birthday, ya wee witch."

"Not from me, is it? Make little enough and find better ways to spend it. Some salt brung it in here fer ya. Didn't leave his name, but he looked just the worthless gob who'd know ya, tha's fer sure. Watched him, case he tried making off with what's bolted down."

"Tha's me girl! Unlikely he'd be stealin', Cathie. If he took one look at ya, he wouldn't dare!"

"People dare plenty. Some bloody rascal stole the bones I put aside fer poor old Tom's dog. Stuff goin missin round here all the time. Happens mostly when yer on yer own I notice. I'd swear you was stealing from yer self. Problem is you let this lot prance around like they own the place. Makes em think they can git up ta all kinds a tricks. When they try them tricks 'round me, I make em regret it, I do."

"Aye lass, you'll make a man die of regret some day, I've no doubt."

"If he plays his cards right, I may do just that. 'Ere you, open that! I'm dead curious what's gonna jump out, and bite ya hard if I've been sayin me prayers right!"

"If you been sayin prayers at all, and I doubt it."

Cathie made a grab for the box but the old man was too quick.

"Damn yer curiosity! You know what happened to the cat, girl!"

"That sounds like a threat. Eww! I hope that was a threat! Haven't practiced my punch since the Press Gang was here!"

"Now I never laid hand on ya when you was little, so don't go busting me teeth now that I'm too old ta defend meself."

"Wouldn't really belt ya, Da! Even if ya do deserve it."

"What a man deserves has got nothin ta do with it. I'd be the King of England fer all the good turns I done ya, lass."

"Ya named me after a bloody pub!"

"No, I named ya both after a ship, ya silly girl."

"How was I ta know that? Must a been a real scallywag to be so quiet about yer past."

"Time only flows on, Cathie. No sense to be dredging. Sides, old men aren't the same men they were when they was young men."

"Yer not all that old, are ya, Da?"

"I am old, Cathie. Best not to expect that I've got too many more years left in me. Now don't go looking sad, girl. I've been lucky. With most folks, like yer ma, years don't have nothing ta do with it."

"I'm kind a hopin when yer time comes ye'll be too bloody stubborn ta go. Matter of fact, ya kin save up all yer stubborness fer that."

She eyes the box meaningfully. Her father throws his head back and laughs from his belly.

"Oh, but that was a fine try though! No, I think this is me private business, Cath. Could be it's not fer me at all. Wouldn't want ta go spoiling yer next birthday, now, would we?"

"If tha's fer me, I'll eat it, whatever tis. How dim d'ya think I am, Da?

"Always getcha something, girl."

"Aye, usually the day before, or the day after, even, if yer having a particularly fergetful fit. Nothing wrong with that! Jus don't try and get around me with those pathetic lies what only work on yer silly whores."

"Now don't go callin em my whores, my girl. Wouldn't touch a one of em with your hand."

"Not and see tomorrow, ya wouldn't."

"You watch the place. Going upstairs fer a while."

"Bites ya? I hope it bloody buggers ya, ya sneaky lyin old bastard!"

"Cathie, apple of me eye, who taught ya how ta swear like a sailor?"

"You did Da."

"Aye, and don't ferget it!"

Upstairs consists of two rooms. Cathie's room is nearly as small, but unquestionably nicer, with a real window and a proper cot. His own, has a hammock, a lantern, and a sea chest. He sits on the chest and stares for a moment at the parcel on his knee. Leadgullet can't explain it, but he has the queerest notion that he doesn't want to know the contents.

He looks at the knot, sure that a sailor had tied it. He shakes it a bit and listens as something heavy for its size thuds against the sides. He smells the paper. He can smell the sea, and something else, faint as it is, that gives him the shivers. It is a thoroughly unnatural smell. What ever is in the box had been the devil's own. Leadgullet was sure of that.

He takes a key from around his neck and opens the thick lock on his chest. He tries not to mind putting the box next to Cath's first pair of shoes. He locks the chest, knowing he can't keep it there for long. Last thing he wants, is to go and die, and leave it up to Cathie to open that box.

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(Chapter 3 coming soon)

A couple of quick notes-

St. Christopher has been called St. Kitts since the 18th century. It may well have been referred to as St. Kitts before that- who knows?- somebody here does, I know it! Any Kittians about?

Signs bearing Catherine Wheel and corruptions of that name once adorned many a pub. That fact, and not the band, was my inspiration here.

What happened to the press gang is based on numerous incidents throughout the history of impressment (a fascinating subject if someone is looking for one.) In some cases, the very sailors the gangs meant to kidnap took pity on them and saved them from female relatives.

Some of the more colorful punishments handed to press gangs by women include: bramble whippings, being tossed in with hungry dogs, being dragged naked through the streets, tar and feathers, and my personal favorite, beatings with stockings full of rocks.

Best to stay on the good side of sailors' women, mates.

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	4. 3 Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax

Not mine! Disney lays claim to that treasure, me hearties. Thanks to Lewis Carroll for the chapter title. Well boots are shoes, aren't they.

This chapter goes out to my sister as one of her late birthday presents.

Thanks to all those kind enough to review. Sorry this is so long in coming and so short in length. Am battling a bad case of writer's block.

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Black Hearts and Silence- by BlackJackSilver

Part Three- Of Ships and Shoes and Sealing Wax

The first time Bill laid eyes on Captain Leadgullet Mullet, was the first day, he was ever certain, that he was going to die.

After losing both his parents, most of his neighbors, and all the family's possessions, to a fire, a small for his age, seven year old Bill Turner, had gone down to the docks to sign on as a cabin boy. Most of the merchants said he was too young. Captain Leaner, who looked nothing like his name, said he would take him, for no pay, if he would sign on for five years. At that point, Bill was so hungry and tired he was having trouble standing. He did not imagine that he would live long enough to find a better option.

The May Hope was not a flashy ship. It was an old and ugly bark, but looked sturdy enough. It was only many days into the voyage to the Caribbean, that Bill discovered the May Hope was a slave ship. She would never again return to England.

She sailed the slavers' round, carrying rum to West Africa, and slaves to the rum plantations throughout the Caribbean. On the journey over, his duties were like those of any other boy on a merchant ship. On the journey back, he dished out slop for the slaves, packed like fish in the hold, so tightly, he had to crawl over their naked bodies, to distribute the meager rations. When a voyage did not go as planned, he did not have to do this, as a slave received no ration.

He and a slightly older boy named Deaf Edward, who spoke and seemed to think rather slowly, but was not hard of hearing, unchained the dead bodies, and dragged them onto the deck, to drop them over the side. At first, Bill said a little prayer, then silently to himself, because the crew had made fun. One day he realized that he had stopped, and could not remember when. Even on a good voyage, half the slaves died from the poor conditions.

It was on Bill's seventh voyage back from West Africa that the May Hope was attacked and later sunk near Madagascar. Mullet's crew, mainly former slaves, killed every May Hope crewmember. Only he and Deaf Edward were spared. Every slave was freed, fed, clothed, and given the choice of joining up, or being dropped at Madagascar. Bill and Deaf Edward were given no choice, but came to enjoy working on the Catherine Wheel. Mullet and the crew soon treated them like sons or younger brothers. Bill felt forgiven for how they had all met.

Apart from the money stripped from the dead crews, and confiscated supplies, Bill could see no profit in the Catherine Wheel's dangerous activities. He did understand what drove the crew, as well as his new Captain. Some things did not have a price tag. Some ventures are their own reward.

Some years after he left the crew, Bill heard that Mullet had settled down with a much younger wife, and had given the Wheel to his first mate, a slender fierce eyed former slave named Patrick. The man was born into slavery and never knew his African heritage. It did not stop him learning many of the languages and dialects of his forgotten homeland. Even back when Bill had known him, the man was a fine sailor and navigator. A year or two later, the Catherine Wheel disappeared. No one knew whether it was lost by storm, captured, sunk by slavers, or if it simply moved on. It was never again seen off Madagascar.

Some mysteries are meant to be. Bill believed she was still out there, somewhere. He knew Leadgullet did too.

It would take Bill many years, and many comparisons, to truly appreciate the experience, the crew, and the captain of the Catherine Wheel. Perhaps it took the curse, Barbossa, and the problem of three gold coins. In any case, Bill felt he owed the best part of the man he had become, to his first good captain, a man who had been a father, and a savior to him, for he had given him a life at sea, and taught him the value of a soul, any soul, even his own.

It was not with his soul in mind, that Bill confronted Barbossa. Bill felt his soul was past redeeming. This was more a matter of his conscience.

"Are ya mad, Turner? Do ya realize that you suffer this curse, same as the rest of us? Where does the profit lie? What's in yer head man? Surely, yer not still pinin' over Jack Sparrow! Fer if ya are, I can tell ya; he's not worth it! Even if he weren't dead as that bloody bone in his hair, which he is, he'd be a poor excuse for this amount of foolishness."

"I am not mad. I say with some confidence that I am the only sane man on this ship. I hand you this curse for all eternity, Barbossa. Yes, I damn myself with the rest of you, and regret not the fate, but the company. The fate I deserve; the company, even I deserve better. I should have died with Captain Jack Sparrow. My only consolation is that I lived to avenge him. Even bilge rats can understand the basest of human motives. Surely you can comprehend revenge. How does it taste, Barbossa? To me, it is far sweeter than any apple."

Having sealed all their fates, Bill was not surprised by Barbossa's wrath. He had relied upon it. He did give the man points, considering the state Barbossa was in, for his creativity.

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